


In Another World

by mousaerato



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Doomed Timelines, Drabble, F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-23 23:52:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mousaerato/pseuds/mousaerato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dead Calliope meets with the Dead Caliborn from the doomed timeline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Another World

**Author's Note:**

> People in the uucest tag were asking for happy fanfic...this was as close as I could get.
> 
> I'm sorry. I tried.

                Dying was a strange paradox.

                Calliope floated aimlessly in her private piece of the afterlife, wondering what else she could change to make it feel like home. Sometimes, she would change her look to be her beloved trollsona, but without anything to interact with, the horns and gray skin only provided so much comfort. Even now, when she could dress as she wished and think as she wanted, her “brother” was still someone she feared. His _existence_ assured that she would always be on guard, even in death, lest even the last traces of her disappear.

                She moved, passively and seemingly aimlessly, through her own swirl of light and darkness. Her gray shoes floated along the bright white as she moved, daring to reach the limit of where she felt safe. She gazed into the beauty of space – stars alight and glowing with soft blues, yellows, and purples – are felt at home. How could she, the Muse of Space, not feel at ease with the dark and brilliant tapestry of the cosmos itself?

                A smile – or as much as she could manage as a cherub – managed to find its way across her face, large eyes even looking bright. There was beauty around her at last, and not at the cost of her safety.

                Or at least that’s what she thought.

                She gasped and covered her mouth in shock as she saw a small, green-skinned and taloned cherub in green slacks, emerald braces, black shirt, and white eyes lick a black tongue across his teeth. She whimpered, sniffling and hoping he couldn’t see her. She turned back, attempting to flee as a jolt of nervousness and fear gripped her—

                “...Calliope?” his voice offered, still smug and gruff, but curious. Calliope refused to turn around, but stopped. Something in her couldn’t run from him – was it nerves? His power?

                “Cal. Turn around.”

                Her tongue went dry. He always had the ability to get under her skin and bully her, command her. Still, something in his voice was...different. It wasn’t the voice – or the _body –_ of the muscular, adult Caliborn she was hiding from, certainly. Was this a trick? Calliope had tried so many times to compromise, to endear herself to him, to find ways to connect to him – and that stubborn boy always shot them down. What more sick way to end it for good than to extend a false olive branch?

                She let herself float further away from the voice, and it called out to her again: “Talk to me!”

                It was a yell, but for the first time, it wasn’t a _threat._ It held no bite in its growl, no arrogance or untamed aggression. His voice was, dare Calliope even think it, _desperate._ Was she misreading it? Mistaking his kindness, perhaps? No, it couldn’t be kindness, could it-

                “Cal! Turn around!”

                Against all reason, she listened. Feet and miles and years and right next in her face, Caliborn floated, brows relaxed and mouth half-open in shock.  He looked like nothing had changed in him; as if someone had simply separated their shared body and made them into two beings at the same moment before she was killed.

                Calliope exhaled as she realized who he was. Yes, he was her brother, the one who threatened and demeaned and wanted to kill her...but this wasn’t the one who made the order and succeeded. He was the Caliborn from a doomed timeline – the one where she dominated instead. She couldn’t _believe_ that a version of her had managed to do it, and she could believe even less that her brother had managed to be _killed._

                Caliborn laughed shakily, clearly in spite of himself. “Funny meeting you here.”

                “Go away!” Calliope snapped. “How are you even – how did you _find_ me?” Fear tinted her words, but Caliborn remained unchanged. For once, he wasn’t smirking or preparing to take advantage of her insecurity. _Why?_

“I can always find you,” he muttered quickly. “How long did we live together?”

                Calliope gulped; his words still were horrifying to her. What if this Caliborn was going to exact some kind of revenge? “Our whole lives, until-“

                “Until _someone_ decided to take me out,” he scoffed, still laughing a little. He seemed so...calm now. Still rough around the edges, but there was a kind of _peace_ that Calliope never expected him to be capable of. “Lots of stabs,” he smiled as he continued, “so _many_ stabs.”

                Without a second thought, Calliope embraced him, choking back a sob as she brought her arms around him and buried her face into his neck. She felt Caliborn tense up, green claws nervously hovering at her sides, but he did _not_ push her away. In fact, Calliope felt him get _warmer_ at the contact with a surprised gasp.

                “I’m – so sorry I _killed_ you!” She cried, wiping tears into his shirt and whispering muttered apologies over and over. “I know I didn’t want to, I just- you-“

                “You didn’t kill me,” Caliborn responded, arms and hands fumbling around to return her gesture in kind. “That wasn’t you.”

                Calliope was too overwhelmed to register the fact that he was, in fact, holding her. She continued, snapping quickly back to him, “No, I did, I know that I’m the reason you’re he-“

                “ _Listen._ You. Did _not._ Kill me.”

                “Then how the _bloody hell_ are you here?!”

                He laughed. “Do you know how timelines work?”

                She looked up and saw lifeless white eyes looking down at her with a trace of...pity? And were his cheeks even redder than usual? “No, I guess I don’t...that’s more your thing.”

                “ _Listen,”_ he insisted, actually pressing her closer to him now. He spoke slowly, like he was trying to explain something so integral to himself that he never even _thought_ about it. “Timelines...they work because of what we _choose._ The version of you that chose to – kill me – isn’t the you that’s here. So, no, _you_ didn’t kill me.”

                “Like how you—“ Calliope poked at his chest – “didn’t kill me?”

                “Yes.” He still had the confidence and assuredness of the brother she grew up with; always either straight answers or clever ruses, but still no uncertainty. “Cal,” he started, voice soft and tenuous. “I’m sorry.”

                “For what?”

                “That big, buff muscle jerk – that’s me, isn’t it.”

                “It’s not _you;_ you just explained that’s the you that chose otherwise—“ she was crying again as she spoke, but Caliborn didn’t chide her. Calliope wondered why he wasn’t: was this a joke? Was this a dream?

                “I know me. Better than you do, actually. That’s who I wanted to be. So it’s still my fault.”

                Calliope noted the past tense. “Wanted?”

                “I’m kind of _dead, so_...”

                She couldn’t help but laugh at him. Strangely, he did not get angry with her, and laughed a little himself. Calliope floated farther back to her safety, and in an act of trust – perhaps blind hope – took his hand and led him back as well. “No, explain!”

                “Dying gives you a different perspective, doesn’t it sis?”

                “Well...yes,” she offered. “But I haven’t quite been able to experience it fully.”

                “Because of me, I know. I’ve seen what I—“

                “He,” she corrected, knowing from his explanation that it wasn’t _truly him_.

                “What _he_ does,” Caliborn relented. “And he’s fucking insane. Unfathomable and endless destruction – for what? Does he not _get it?_ I swear, he’s a fucking stunted piece of shit.”

                Calliope giggled. “So the afterlife _does_ heal,” she mused. “Do you get it now?”

                “Yeah,” he sighed. “Yeah, I fucking do.”

                When Caliborn and Calliope reached the center of her quiet piece of space, she took his hand into hers and smiled. Caliborn shook again, overwhelmed and flustered.

                “Brother...”

                “I’m not your brother.”

                “Fine!” Calliope stuck out a white, forked tongue. “Cal, do you know what cherry red blood _does?”_

“Fuck no. I might understand shit, sure, but trolls still _suck.”_

 _“_ Humans have red blood too!”

                “Just tell me what you were going to say, geez! And – wow, your hands...”

                “Cherry red blood, across all universes, has been linked to the ability to love beyond definition.”

                Caliborn gulped as his sister – no, his partner, his counterpart, his missing piece – brought her other arm around him, smiling. “But I already knew that from you, silly. You _really_ think I didn’t know you were looking through my books?”

                “And did you really think I _didn’t_ figure you would draw me?” Caliborn was arrogant to the end, but now, Calliope only found it _endearing._

“Fine,” she pouted.

                “This place fucking sucks. You’d think a Muse of Space could make the place pretty.” This time, Caliborn stuck out his tongue at her, smiling – actually smiling.

                Calliope saw the opportunity he gave her, and withdrew her white wand, waving it with a flash of lime green light. “ _Watch me._ ”

                Caliborn folded his arms across his chest and hummed as she transformed the black and white swirl of light and darkness into a large, beautiful room, full of board games, candy, a full chess board, and various writing and drawing implements. She smirked back at him, proud of herself. “How’s that?”

                “That’s more fucking like it.”

                She sighed. “It doesn’t really work, though. Bloody stuff won’t _move,”_ she admitted.

                “All space, no time,” he teased. “Good thing I’m here.” He smiled, taunting her further: “You could never pull anything off without me, could you?” Calliope only laughed; it was nice to know for once, _just once,_ he didn’t seem to be full of malice towards her.  He still was who he was, though – and she was glad for it.

                Caliborn withdrew a scepter and, standing in front of the new creation, moved like a conductor with a baton, watching as the green and red clock on the wall began to move and tick. The quality of the room changed; items began to look properly aged instead of idealized, had depth and _weight_ to them.  Turning to her, Caliborn nodded upward to her with an air of cockiness: “How’s that.”

                Calliope rolled her eyes, even though she had no irises. “Not bad. Good thing I gave you something to work with, though!” As much as they were at each other’s throats, they both enjoyed the bickering.

                “By the way,” Caliborn asked as he laid down on the inviting gray and ornate carpet, “why the _fuck_ are you still in that outfit?”

                “I...” Calliope suddenly felt disarmed. “I feel better like this.”

                He cocked his head. “Why?”

                “I’ve just always wanted to be a troll...you know that!”

                “I smell a lie.” He still knew her better than anyone else in the world.

                “I’m not lying-“

                “Trickery, then.” He gestured to his side. “Come here.”

                “Um... _what?_ ”

                “Sit down!”

                Calliope complied, lazily letting her head fall against his chest as her back rested on his stomach. He did not refuse the affectionate gesture, instead getting up the _gall_ to hold her hand. She already knew he had the capacity to love beyond the normal understanding of cherub courtship; why not go for it? They were both freaks, he surmised. At least it was nothing they had to hide. He guessed correctly that she wouldn’t be upset; in fact, she sighed happily.

                “So,” he started with an unintentional hiss, “come on. Real reason you’re in that stuff? Or rather, the full reason.”

                “...I think I’m ugly,” she offered quietly.

                “You’re fucking not.”

                “You used to make fun of me all the time! You said I had ugly eyes, that you hated my hands, that my mouth was—“

                Calliope found herself cut off by Caliborn bringing a hand to her chin to tilt her head upwards, bringing her mouth to his with a _kiss_. It was forceful and a bit awkward, full of sharp teeth and no technique, but positively _passionate._ Calliope attempted to reciprocate, giving small kisses between labored breaths, eventually allowing her costume to fade away for both their sakes.

                When they stopped, Caliborn caught his breath – though he didn’t need to breathe – and spoke. “I was paying close attention to how you looked. Yeah.” Most of his vocabulary seemed to have left him with the kiss. “You’re not ugly. God, this is depraved.”

                Calliope couldn’t help but laugh at him.

                “W-what, that was fucking sick and filth-“

                “And you _loved_ it,” she sassed. “How about we play a game?”

                “Chess?”

                “Of course,” she smiled. “By the way, I think there’s some chocolates over there.”

                “Oh _fuck,”_ he said with anticipation. “Is this the stuff you – well, alternate you I guess - talked to me  about before?”

                “Perfectly sugary! You’ll adore it, I promise!”

* * *

                The two of them ate chocolates and played chess for several hours – whatever hours meant in the afterlife, anyway. Calliope was sure Caliborn could tell, but she knew it wasn’t really something she could understand. It was alright; he wasn’t too good with drawing or anything relating to Space, so it was a fair trade, she surmised.

                “This candy is great,” Caliborn said between chewing at sticky chocolate-covered caramels. “Why the fuck didn’t I listen to you before?”

                “Because you were a pompous runt,” Calliope replied haughtily.

                “You’re so lucky I deal with your mouth.”

                “You weren’t complaining about it a while ago, now were you?” She smiled, knowing she had him in a corner. “All jokes aside lovely, I...missed you.”

                “How the _fuck_ would you miss me?”

                “I just kept...thinking one day, maybe you’d understand, and maybe we could get along...”

                “Shame it took both of us _getting killed_ for that to happen. This is...nice.”

                “You’re so mellow now!”

                “Don’t fucking remind me,” he groused and bristled. “And you actually have a spine, hiding yourself and being sneaky.”

                “I learned from the best,” she said smiling at him.

                “Same here. Shame we couldn't live like this.”

                “Don’t say that!” Calliope said with some cheer for her voice.

                “Why not? We’re fucking dead and I—he might find us.”

                “There’s a hope player and a life player still alive out there, dear. Maybe, just maybe...when they succeed...”

                “They could bring us back?”

                “Maybe. We need to believe it’s possible, though. Maybe there’ll be a place for us.”

                “Til then?”

                “Until then, we’ve got all the space and time we need. Want to play another game?”

                Caliborn smirked, voice low with purpose as he drew closer to her to take her hand. “I’ve got plenty of ideas.”


End file.
